The May sun shone down brilliantly on the white casket. It sat there, ready to be lowered into the ground, filled with the body of a man that Rusty had come to admire, and even love. In a short time, Saint had taught him so much. He'd helped him learn how to love himself again. He'd reminded him that no matter what he'd done in his lifetime, that God still loved him. He'd urged him to make amends with his family, he'd talked to him about life, and love and family...Rusty had grown to love him like a best friend...and now, he was gone. The shell of what was left of him was in a box that was going to be lowered into the ground and it made it hard for Rusty to breathe just thinking about it.

He'd stood there with over a hundred bikers, from two different clubs and he realized as he looked around at them all, that not a single one of them was ashamed to shed a tear for Saint. He'd made an impression on all of them, those that had known him for years and those who were recent friends and acquaintances. He was like some twisted, foul-mouthed angel that had touched down on earth long enough just to make life a bit more bearable for those that needed him. Now the brilliant sun and the iridescent colors of the grass and trees and flowers in the cemetery were conspiring to convince Rusty that life would go on without his new friend and he didn't know whether to be happy about that or pissed.

“You doing okay?” Shelly had left him alone after the funeral was over, so he could have a few minutes to say whatever it was he needed to say to his friend. But, he'd been standing there for close to an hour now...he had no idea what to say. What he wanted was for the sun to stop shining for just a minute. He wanted the world to go dark and the birds to stop singing and life to just not fucking go on...just for a minute, in honor of his friend.

“Yeah,” he said. “I'm sorry.”

She slipped her arm through his and lay her head against his shoulder. “Don't be sorry. I know what he meant to you. If you need more time with him...”

More time was exactly what Rusty needed. But not with this box and the empty shell of his friend inside. He wanted more time with Saint, and he was pissed that he wasn't going to get it. “No, it's okay,” he told her. “I am supposed to meet with Hunter before he takes off this afternoon. We better get back.” They were having a wake at the clubhouse and Rusty was not looking forward to it. He knew the guys would all be shitfaced, because that's how most of them dealt with horrible things they didn't want to face. And the truth was, it pissed him off that they could get shitfaced today and forget their problems and forget about how much it hurt to lose their friend...and he couldn't. It pissed him off that despite everything Saint had done to help him get sober that what he wanted more than anything right then, was a drink.

“Hunter's going to look for the woman?” Shelly asked. That last day Rusty had seen his friend alive, Saint gave him the letter for Celia. Garrett made it back that evening and Rusty had left him alone with Saint. The next morning, he got the call that Saint had passed away during the night. Shelly had been with him and she had been so sweet. She held him while he cried and even rocked him like he was a baby, not saying a word, just letting him get it all out.

They'd gone out to the ranch that day and Rusty got to spend a little time with Garrett. He was a huge, quiet man, but it was easy to see he had loved Saint and Rusty didn't have to know much more about him than that to know he liked him. But during some of their long talks Saint had told Rusty what Garrett had done for him, a lonely, messed-up little boy that had no one else in the world, so he'd already had a lot of respect for him. Rusty also met Hunter, the guy with the funny hat that was sitting with Dax and Handsome that day. Hunter is a bounty hunter who does side work for the club. When he heard about Celia and the letter, he volunteered to help track her down. That had all been exactly a week ago, and this morning before they sent Saint “home” as he had called it, Hunter sent Rusty a text message. He'd found Celia.

“He found her,” he told Shelly. “He has an address for me in Nevada. She lives in Primm and works at a casino out on the state line, in the business office or something.”

“Oh wow, that was fast.” Rusty let go of Shelly's arm and walked over to the coffin. He believed strongly that Saint wasn't still there...but still...he put his hand on it and said,

“I'll see you when it's time for me to go home, buddy. In the meantime, try not to teach all those real saints up there how to use the word fuck in every sentence.” He smiled and took one last deep breath before turning back toward Shelly. “Yeah, it was fast,” he said, taking her arm and leading her toward where he'd left his bike. They'd had quite a procession of them on the way out to the cemetery. Saint would have loved it. “If this is a good lead, I'm going to fly out to Vegas tonight.”

She nodded, and he felt her arm grip him tighter. He felt bad sometimes because he knew she was developing feelings for him. It wasn't that he didn't have any for her, he did. But, things had just been so chaotic since they met, and his sponsor told him repeatedly that he was too newly sober to get into any kind of long-term relationship. He'd been honest with her about that and she'd assured him that casual was okay with her for now. But he could tell that she was hoping for more...he just wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to give it to her.

When they got back to the ranch, the wake...or “party” was in full-swing and most of the guys were already about half-drunk. Rusty saw Hunter near the pool tables in the back and he was about to head over when Shelly said,

“Hey Rusty.” He turned toward her, and she motioned her head toward the kitchen door behind the bar. One of the prospects bringing out the food had left the door propped open, but Rusty didn't understand what Shelly wanted him to look at.

“What?”

“Under the sink.” The kitchen had two big industrial kitchen type sinks that sat side by side next to the big dishwasher. Black curtains hung under both of them to cover where the cleaners and soap, things like that went. Sticking out underneath one of them, just barely visible, was the tip of a tennis shoe.

“Blue?”

Shelly nodded. “I think so. That looks like the shoes she was wearing.”

“Shit.” Rusty left Shelly where she was standing and went into the kitchen. He waited until the prospects finished carrying out the rest of the food and he pushed the door closed. As he approached the sink he saw the foot slowly being pulled back underneath the curtain. He reached down and parted them open and there was little Blue, shoved as far back against the wall as she could get. One of her hands was behind her back but she pulled it out when she saw Rusty look toward it. “You okay?”

“I'm fine.”

“You always sit under the sink?”

“You always make everything your business?”

That surprised him. Blue was a lot of things, but even with Isaac and the boys that she called “jerks” she was never snarky or rude. “I thought we were friends. My friends are my business.”

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I just want to be alone, okay? There's no fucking place on this ranch to be alone.”

Rusty started to get onto her about her language, but he caught himself. This wasn't the time. He wished the hell he knew more about kids. He had no idea what to say to her. But, his heart hurt for her and he couldn't just leave her there alone. “How about if I just sit with you? I won't say a word.”

“I'd rather you didn't.”

Rusty bent down slightly so he could see her face. He was actually planning on giving her the space she seemed to need, but his nose picked up the scent of alcohol. He could smell even a drop of whiskey, it was his alcoholic superpower. Instead of walking away, he sat down in the floor, Indian style, facing her.

“Seriously?” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Blue, I know you loved Saint, and I know you're hurting. My chest hurts so fucking bad I can hardly breathe. But...you know what the very last thing on this earth is that Saint would want you to do?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I know.”

“Then why, Blue? Why are you down here drinking alcohol when you know how badly it would hurt Saint to know you were doing it?”

She pulled the bottle out that she'd hidden behind her back. It was almost full. It looked like maybe she'd taken a swig out of it, and spit part of it back in. She held it out to him and as he took it, she broke. Suddenly, Bonnie Blue was a little girl and she was sobbing. Huge tears covered her face and Rusty put the bottle aside and opened his arms. She curled into them and he let her sob against him. She was talking as she cried, but he couldn't understand a word she was saying. It didn't matter. What mattered was that she was letting it out. They sat there like that with her crying for so long that Rusty couldn't feel his legs, but he still didn't move. When Blue finally started to calm down she said,

“I just wanted to forget...but it was awful.”

Rusty chuckled and kissed the top of her head. She'd actually foregone her usual ball cap for the funeral. “It is awful. It tastes awful and it does awful things to your body.”

She looked up at him then. Her little dark eyes were swollen and puffy red and her nose was running. “Then why do they all do it?” she said, angrily. “Saint died because of that stuff and they're all out there, drinking it by the gallons. It doesn't make any fucking sense!” She pounded her little fist into his chest and said, “My dad gave me up, for that! He let me be raised without any parents because that shit was more important to him than me!” She started crying again and Rusty realized that this was more about her father and her craving for a family than it was about Saint. Not that she didn't love Saint and she wasn't going to miss him...but his death had stirred up all of her fears about her father and the choices he'd made, and might make in the future.

“You're right honey, it doesn't make any sense. It doesn't even make sense to me, when I'm sober...but that's the problem. When you're an alcoholic and you drink, the world doesn't look the same. We're wired differently for whatever reason, and we don't care that it tastes bad, because it's not about the taste...it's about how it makes us feel.”

“That's why I wanted to try it. I want to know what feels so much better than being a dad...or being alive!”

“I wish that I could explain it so that you and I could both understand it honey, but the truth is, me and Saint and your dad...guys like us don't like alcohol. We don't like the way it tastes, or smells...and we especially don't like the power it has over us. We don't like the way it comes between us and the people we love. We don't want to crave it. We don't want to need it. Your daddy, he didn't want to hurt that lady, or leave you...he didn't want to ruin your life and his. Saint didn't want to die, and I didn't want to spend two years of my life in an alcohol haze. I know none of that changes the reality of any of our situations. But maybe if you try to understand that this was something your daddy did because he didn't know how to change, you can believe that his choices were completely separate from his love for you.” Rusty borrowed that from what Saint had told him about Celia...but, it seemed fitting here as well.

“It's still fucked-up,” she said. Rusty sighed and shook his head. She'd definitely spent too much time with Saint.

“Yeah,” he said, “It is. But, you know something? I believe that everything happens for a reason. We don't always know what those reasons are. Sometimes they're apparent right away, and sometimes later on, and sometimes not at all...but maybe it would be easier to look at it like this...if your daddy had never gone to prison, you may have never grown so close to Saint. And because you were close to Saint, you knew my dad. And because you knew my dad...ultimately, I got sober. So maybe you and I are supposed to take this second chance of mine and do something great with it.”

“Like what?”

Rusty shook his head. “I'm not sure yet. But when it comes to us, we'll know.”

“You're just talking a lot of shit to make me feel better,” she said. Rusty laughed.

“Is it working?”

She nodded and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “A little, I guess. I should go see Susie. Angel said she's been crying in her room a lot since Saint died. She didn't get to go to the funeral.”

“You're a good kid Blue, you know that?”

She shrugged. “I guess. I'm sorry I stole the whiskey. Are you going to tell Dax?”

“Not going to say a word.”

She smiled. “Thanks. I won't do it again.”

“I know.” She scrambled up to her feet and then looked down at Rusty and said, “Can you get up?”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “You're talking to a three-time Super Bowl champion.”

Blue laughed and then surprised him by leaning down and kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you for trying to make me feel better with your bullshit.”

He chuckled again. “No problem, but do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Try to clean up that mouth a little, will you?”

She rolled her eyes again. “Yeah, I'll try.” She held out her knuckles and Rusty bumped them with his. He waited until she was gone to try to get up. Three-time Super Bowl champ or not...getting up off that floor was fucking hard.